


Object of Desire Beyond the Reach

by saphique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackcest, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Character Death, F/F, Heavy Angst, Lesbian Character, Sibling Incest, bellacissa, bellacissy, cissatrix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphique/pseuds/saphique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War. Devastated by Bellatrix's imminent death, Narcissa reflects about the heartbreaking love she denied them from having and feels responsible for her sister's tendency for self-destruction. It is Narcissa's farewell to her sister.  *Warning: dark theme, angst, consenting lesbian incest*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Object of Desire Beyond the Reach

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1 : It was impossible for me not to contribute to this wonderful and intense pairing, even though I do not master the English language very well. It is Bellatrix and Narcissa’s tale, the one I always wished for them and I tried the hardest to make it happen, to put their affection on paper and share it with the eyewitnesses of their love. Enjoy!  
> Note 2 : The title is from Wolves in the Throne Room’s song A Looming Resonance. The lyrics are taken from La Dispute’s perfect CD= Somewhere at the Bottom of the River between Vega and Altair  
> Note 3 : I’m sorry for any incoherence/inexactitude; I haven’t read The Deathly Hallows in a long time. Set after the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor, the story takes place during the final battle, with a flashback of Bellatrix’s escape from Azkaban.

&&&  
_Fall Down, Never Get Back Up Again_ :  
You speak in every curling wave  
And sing in every violent breeze  
Someday not far away from here  
My dear, I swear I'll see you  
And we will hear the seraphs cry  
For they will still envy you and I  
How they envied you and I  
- _La Dispute_  
&&&

1998\. The waves of her dark intermingled hair cascading around her silhouette covers up the quivering of her body. Curled up like a beaten animal, close to the fireplace, Bellatrix hides her bleeding face inside dry palms. The Malfoy Manor abounds of corpses, shattered glass and unidentified whimpers. A glacial breeze follows each of Voldemort’s steps toward the murderous sight, sending repulsive shivers down Narcissa’s nape of the neck. Her dilated pupils nervously scrutinize the panorama: her sister rocking back and forth on the wooden floor covered in dust. Her armour, the black dress, is ruffled and unevenly stained of different shades of red. Parselmouth is spoken and the Dark lord disapparates. The exhalation lengthily held in finally explodes, forcing Narcissa to generate sounds unknown to herself. It is terror, terror echoing in the vertigo of her heart at the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange deeply affected, intensely hurting from the previous assault from her master. It is not about the crucio itself, used on all the Malfoys, but about its mixture with pitiless abuse exclusively aimed at Bellatrix. The invective spoken by Lord Voldemort, by the emblem of what she stands for, stamped Bellatrix for the rest of her existence. Legilimency becomes useless; Narcissa is perfectly able to read her sister’s deranged and destroyed mind.

Relieved by Nagini and their master’s retreat, Lucius and Draco slowly begin to leave the putrid and gory room, bewildered at fact of being alive. As her husband and her son progress, Narcissa is incapable of following them. When Bellatrix’s heard Lord Voldemort’s disapparation, she completely immobilized, since the source of her distress had left. Gradually, Bellatrix falls into a trance of continuous weeping. Brutal sounds, natural cries, shouts of grunts. Fighting back tears, Narcissa walks and stands in front of the deposed warrior and carefully bows, adjusting to her height. The drafts caused by her breathing are creating undulation to the patch of long curls covering her aching face. Spit and blood are glued to them. This is it. Narcissa perfectly knows that this precise instant is decisive, signifying that her sister is leaving forever. The last glimpse of hope for rehabilitation, for cure against mental illness, has died the moment her dignity and her integrity were raped by the disappointment felt by her master. Bellatrix is totally subjugated and a victim of her own allegiance.

“Bella”. The two syllables are effectively pronounced to gain the witch’s attention. By a miniature interstice, Narcissa can observe swollen eyes behind the mask of the dark hair. Even though her sister is unmistakably crying from despair, fury resides inside her orbits. Years ago, the simple use of her name by Narcissa’s soft voice would calm Bellatrix, would loosen up each of her sore muscles and would stretch a foreign but welcomed smile on her arid lips. Nowadays, it seems like Bellatrix’s profound self-destruction generates an indissoluble veil between them. As they rebound across the space, Bellatrix’s brutal cries sting Narcissa’s ears, like a disordered mumble.

“Bella”, she repeats, hoping for the soothing outcome these words used to create. With certitude, the blonde holds out a trembling hand. Seconds pass by, her hand still floats, and her fingers twitch as Narcissa instinctively seek her sister’s touch. With the sound of a detonation and with the speed of light, wounded lips force themselves on the perfect skin and suddenly Bellatrix desperately kisses Narcissa’s fingers, dragging blood and tears on each knuckles. Taken aback by this hasty affection, Narcissa does not move.

Aggravated by her sister for being non-responsive, Bellatrix shoves the gentle hand out of her sight and grimaces as emotional and physical pain regains her. Trying to get on her feet, tripping on the length of her dress, unstable in her boots, Bellatrix neglects her torn muscles and pathetic shape and wobbly stares at Narcissa. At their equal stature, Bellatrix’s dangerously enormous eyes can look intently in Narcissa’s worried pair. Her cheeks are dirty and red from the abuse and from the howling. A deep vertical wrinkle is drawn between her eyebrows from the force of wonder, throbbing and apprehension. Her rotten teeth create friction as she contains the built-up of a fury, but it is hopeless. As Narcissa remains still, Bellatrix opens her mouth and, with a stinky mouthful of air, rips her lungs as she screams, closing her eyes as she turns towards the mass of corpses decomposing on the floor. She is screaming so loudly, her neck stretches as desperation evacuates. Her petite but well-built silhouette jumps and trembles as she lashes out on the stiff carcasses, as she spits on them, as she tries to exclaim a giggle within the hysteria.

“Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!” is repeated again and again, desperately. Green flashes. Without a menace, Bellatrix yells it out like a call for vengeance, like a chase for dignity and like a claim for redeem. With her arms raised on each side of her body, she continues to scream and wander around the room, gazing at the dead, forcing demented chuckles and chocking on them. “Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!”. It is futile for Narcissa to fight back the tears that irritate her cheeks. This is it, Bellatrix is gone. Without endorsement from her Dark Lord, being deprived from the esteem that she deserves, Bellatrix is gone. Her mind is accessing a forbidden world, her entire identity is shattering, her self-respect is lacking. Bellatrix is gone because Narcissa cannot offer her what she needs. Bellatrix is gone because Narcissa cannot give her back what they had. The sky has turned to black, however not strewed by luminous stars. The most powerful star, the brightest, the purest, has collapsed in front of the fireplace in a tangled mess of hair and fabric.

&&&  
_Andria_ :  
My dear, I hear your voice in mine.  
I've been alone here, I've been afraid, my dear.  
I've been at home here.  
You've been away for years.  
I've been alone.  
I breathed your name into the air; I etched your name into me.  
- _La Dispute_  
&&&

  
1996\. There were rumours. Numerous prisoners had escaped Azkaban. The thick and insuperable walls of bricks preventing any form of interaction exploded, forming a path for escape. Narcissa doubted her beloved sister had any chance to escape. It would have been surrealistic, an utopia; however her heart clenched from the delusional and frantic hope. Feeling too emotional, Narcissa denied any optimist thought; still hurting from the unbearable seclusion, from being dispossessed of the source of her existence. The criminal her sister had become could never obliterate the history they have erected. The years separating the last moment she laid eyes on her could never erase the beauty of the memory of her shadow. There were rumours. The most powerful warrior, the loyal and ruthless, was wandering, seeking her Master. How could Narcissa Malfoy ever envisage that the prettiest picture of her existence would present itself in her home in the heart of the calmest night?

A skeletal character was hiding in the shadowy living room, though the features were noticeable. If Narcissa had the strength to breathe, she would have shrieked. Instead, her hands slapped her mouth, pressing firmly on the lips to contain every ounce of emotion that needed to exteriorize. Each of the distinctiveness details known by heart were offered before her; the inelegant tresses mixed together; the unbalanced position; the head bending close to the right shoulder; the nervous fingers playing with broken nails; the ragged breath; the eagerness found in every part of the body. As she recognized Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa’s shoulders began to undulate as her face turned red and white from muffling cries. Beautiful fireworks were taking place in her lungs as well as in her muscles and in her throat when the object of her desire stood at her reach. Bellatrix was alive, the fugitive was safe, and her sister would forever be protected.

“You abandoned me, dear Cissy”. The voice, alien to both of them from its bittersweet thud, straightforwardly stabbed Narcissa’s heart. The hands, too weak to support the rushed breathing, started to shake as Narcissa lowered them and recovered from the accusation.

  
“I have thought of you every second-”

  
“-LIAR!”.

Bellatrix’s hidden silhouette progressed into a moonlighted stripe, revealing her injured, neglected and abused body. Narcissa always knew her sister was born as a survivor. Her skin carried the marks of torture, her muscles supported the burden of agony and her eyes were blurred by Dementor’s breathes. The intense thirst and thrill for life had vanished, Narcissa being incapable of localizing any form of craze in her sister’s eyes. Yet, Bellatrix, the warrior, the survivor, was safe.

  
“How can…how can you think I’m lying? Oh, Bella! I...I...You are here, you are here at last!”. Narcissa fully thrown herself into her sister’s arms, attaching her body to Bellatrix’s, holding onto her Azkaban outfit, clutching at the worn material. She searched for the distinct perfume of her skin, she hoped for the warmth she adored.

  
“Bella…Bella…”

  
And she began to kiss her throat at once, only this time bruised skin prevented a complete reconciliation. The kisses were sloppy and graceless, though desperate and urgent. Bellatrix, the survivor. The world halted its continuation, the subsistence of life could have been found inside Narcissa’s heart. She was sure the pounding of her adoration could have been felt against Bellatrix’s breast. The kisses travelled from throat to cheek, from cheek to forehead. There were tears. Little by little, Bellatrix reciprocated the embrace. Narcissa did not dare to caress her sister’s dry lips; the passion it would have ensured could have damaged her injured skin. Instead, her damp hands captured Bellatrix’s jaw, holding her in place as she fervently admired her facial features; her perished teeth, the griminess of her hair and the oversized eyes. Dreadfully skinny, Bellatrix’s bones could have easily been traced with the tip of her fingers. Her skin looked as thin as papyrus paper, revealing purple veins and red smudges. By the significant silence, their entire history reincarnated within seconds.

  
“You have a son. You’re married. Cissy, you didn’t hope for me.”

  
The vibrant fireworks flaming in Narcissa’s chest started to hurt as her sincere beam died. Instead, her swollen eyes and damped hands focused on Bellatrix, unable to grasp the change occurring in her sister’s temper. Bellatrix remained still, unaffected, though her wrists were clenching and her eyes looked vitreous. Narcissa wondered how Bellatrix could doubt, why Bellatrix didn’t felt the certitude that, indeed, each of her thoughts were sent out straightforwardly to her loving sister. Narcissa had to gather strength; Narcissa had to maximize the expanse of her life during the wait; Narcissa had to transfer the love she felt towards her sister to other beings-Lucius, Draco- or else she would have died from the accumulation of speculation and from the absence of contact.

  
“…I couldn’t linger. It was impossible; I thought I’d die if I didn’t felt useful to someone”

  
“You WERE! To me! I WAITED! Even when insanity took over me, you remained inside me! I survived!”

  
Bellatrix’s exclamation resonated everywhere. It destroyed Narcissa completely. She thought the elements around them were blowing apart.  
“I lived for you! I have chosen you over everything. Killing, torturing, serving and fighting is what I have left, without you, Cissy!”

  
A line of sweat glided along Narcissa’s temples. Heavy humidity invaded the room as a palpable grim nature enveloped both women.

  
“That is not true, Bella. Before your imprisonment, you had me. Still, you killed and fought. I was never the center of your universe. The Dark Lord was your priority, you left me alone”

  
Disapproving, regaining strength and disguising a figure of wound, Bellatrix leaned forward, incredibly close to Narcissa, scenting her mouthful of air.

  
“I did only after you have denied me. I became a loyal servant to someone worthy who required my energy, when you didn’t. You refused us. You neglected us.”

  
The tension became overbearing. Narcissa’s soul suffered too intently; Bellatrix’s astonishing homecoming; Bellatrix’s blaming; the bittersweet memories. The inside of her throat was like sandpaper. Blood was boiling in her skull. Her beautifully tragic sister kept staring at her, profoundly aching. Narcissa wished for a reasonable reply, hoped to find the proper words. A terrible headache took control of her mind, of her judgment. Bellatrix looked away, stared at the sinister sky, avoiding any physical contact with her beloved sister. Narcissa was hurting from the disconnection.

  
“We couldn’t continue what we shared; it would have left us with nothing”

  
“But we would have each other! Wouldn’t that been sufficient? You’re all I wanted, all I cared for!”

  
“But it isn’t legitimate. We couldn’t! We, we can’t! I had to have a life of my own. Oh, Bella, please…let me rejoice; let me celebrate your escape! I do love you! Let me embrace you, please! You’re back! You’re alive… …you’re…Every day, I was in distraught….”.

  
In haste, Bellatrix returned to a stuttering Narcissa, widely spread her arms to welcome her baby sister against her.

  
“Cissy, my dear Cissy...”

  
Bellatrix covered her sister’s white skin with frantic kisses and Narcissa opened her heart once more to the love of her life.

  
&&&  
_Andria_  
I held your name inside my heart, but it got buried in my fear.  
It tore the wiring of my brain; I did my best to keep it clear.  
So, dear, no matter how we part, I hold you sweetly in my head.  
And if I do not miss a part of you, a part of me is dead.  
If I can't love you as a lover, I will love you as a friend.  
And I will lay a bed before you; keep you safe until the end  
- _La Dispute_  
&&&

1998\. Ascension of war. The confrontation of antagonisms. Darkness against light. Commitment against bravery. Deatheaters are gathering atop a towering mountain facing Hogwarts. Silence envelops each gasp while it swallows the dissonance of fear and remorse. The Master guides a path towards the edge of the peak, solidifies the assembly and executes deserters. As Voldemort observes the landscape of battle, nearby dwells Bellatrix Lestrange. Her position is unstable, her tongue is picking on a scar close to her mouth and her wand is firmly held. With Lucius, physically and emotionally impotent, by her side, Narcissa does not dare to walk forward as Bellatrix separates from her vision. She only manages to catch a glance at Bellatrix’s wild hair delimited by the halo of Hogwarts’s shield. Her breathing is accentuated, manifested by an opaque fog. Bellatrix’s excitement, or apprehension, is cautiously denied as she stands at her Master’s right.

Narcissa’s distress cannot be hidden as she deems about the danger and the deplorable deaths. Her sister is facing a fatal faith; her presence close-by Voldemort’s setting is for good measures and for the hunger of war. Profoundly, brutal defeats and plentiful deceptions have destroyed Bellatrix’s endeavor to regain faith into herself. Narcissa knows that, at this instant, her beloved sister is functioning in order to gain Voldemort’s trust once more, since she deprived Bellatrix of a blissful life. Narcissa does not even know if Bellatrix, the survivor, the warrior, ever had achieved happiness. It is now too late. Wands are raised and the assault begins. As Narcissa hears the energized laughter of her sister externalizing her excitation, she knows it will be a farewell. This is the last night of Bellatrix Lestrange. At the simple thought of it, her throat squeezes and sickness makes her dizzy. Deatheaters sprint and dissapparate towards the castle, summoned by Voldemort. Lucius follows. The atmosphere is suddenly chilly and noticeably heavy. Left behind, Narcissa passively observes the ecstatic yet daunting portrait down below. Warm wind blows against her cold face as the scenario sinks in her heart. Her precious sister didn’t leave.

Narcissa knows Bellatrix distinguishes that her own death is approaching. Slowly, Narcissa joins the warrior at the edge of the mountain. The sky is sparkling, gleaming with blue and white flashes. As Bellatrix turns and looks at Narcissa, an explosion illuminates Bellatrix’s tranquil visage. A colourful burst into flames perfectly reveals the affection the murderess feels for her sister. Her brown eyes remain serene and a momentous smile embellishes her features. She almost seems sane, sensible, and lucid. Her magnificence is beautifully tragic. Narcissa realizes that her sister will remain rightly invincible within her heart. This is the last opportunity for an intimate moment, for an emotional scrutiny. As the blonde witch opens her mouth to speak, another blue explosion illuminates Bellatrix’s perfection, directly hurting Narcissa’s chest. She is completely horrified by this farewell while Bellatrix is astonishingly pleased. The anticipation for this upcoming battle – her death – might be the fullest emotion Bellatrix might ever have the chance to experience. Her immensely long hair dances alongside the warm breeze and her heart is speeding. Narcissa understands how Bellatrix involuntarily craves for recognition. Narcissa understands why Bellatrix necessitates extremes and needs to feel irreplaceable. It is to fill the emptiness, a depth shredded by their unattainable and inexpressible affection.

A love once consumed. Without second thoughts, Narcissa approaches Bellatrix. Explosion of lights and colour reflects on the deatheater’s necklace. Terrified, dreadfully horrified. Can Narcissa whisper to her cherished sister that she is about to have a part of herself ripped off as soon as she’ll leave for battle? Can Narcissa whisper to her cherished sister that she is about to lose the essence of her soul? Can Narcissa whisper to her cherished sister that she orchestrated her life in order to bring herself closer to Bellatrix (her husband being a deatheater, her son’s name after a constellation)? How can Narcissa sense terror and melancholy when, for the initial time, Bellatrix appears to feel what seems to be the closest to bliss? The skilled warrior presumes her own apparent death and still looks joyous.

  
“It’s what I always dreamed of, Cissy. War. My favourite spells shouted across the space. Deeply breathing cold air and filling my lungs. Defying my enemies. Making us proud, honouring the Black family. Toujours pur. Hundreds of souls surrendering to the Dark Lord. It’s here. It’s now. It’s for me.”

  
Obviously, it is a lie, a subterfuge to hide self-destruction, expense for not being able to pursuit what her heart requires. How can Narcissa disregard that Bellatrix’s deepest dream actually consisted of loving and protecting the only human being she cared for and neglecting everything else?

  
Narcissa’s fists are clenched, her throat hurts, and her eyes are teary. Uncontrollably, she fights the urge to glance away. She knows she looks exhausted with heavy eyelids and messy hair and slightly feels sorry that this would be the last portrait Bellatrix will see of her, of them.  
“I love you so much.”

  
As soon as Narcissa confesses, Bellatrix’s inhale obstructs in her mouth, as if she breathed poisonous air. Her mouth twitched and disgust, confusion and relief ravels in her dark eyes. To the sight of her reaction, it is impossible for Narcissa to articulate properly when Bellatrix looks invincible and so beautifully fierce in front of Hogwarts’s blue protection halo, so immense and powerful compared to the silhouettes already fighting down below. Bellatrix has to join them. She needs it. That is why Narcissa denied them. This is why Narcissa refused the love they shared so heartily. As the sane, being the reasonable, she had to offer a chance to her cherished sister to experience further, to neglect their immoral mutual adoration. If she only knew it would lead to this tragic outcome, to Bellatrix’s final combat after being separated from her for years, years, years…

  
Without realizing, their mouths are joined in the softest collision. Heart pounding and aching. An immense fissure shapes itself in Narcissa’s stomach as pain and panic take part of her being. Dry hands seize dense hair. Narcissa’s and Bellatrix’s tears mingle as their cheeks stroke each other. Can Narcissa whisper to her cherished sister that she is not ready to let her go? Devastated to recognize and to adore these lips once more, Narcissa starts to pant and clutch at anything she can get her hands on; Bellatrix’s jawbone, necklace, shoulders, hips. After vulnerably stroking tongues, once their mouth disjoints, the blonde witch hides her distress in her sister’s dress, sticks her face onto Bellatrix’s chest and wraps her arms around her waist, holding her forcefully against her. Unstable and clumsy hands leisurely fondle Narcissa’s hair before lifting her head with palms placed on each side of her chin before Bellatrix kisses her again, lips firmly pressed.

  
Cold air hit her entire body as Bellatrix moves backward, ripping their embrace, her state feverish and proud. She glows. She beams. As she raises her wand, a cacophonous and colourful detonation heightens, exposing her entire beautiful silhouette.

  
“I’ll make you proud, Cissy! I’ll defend you. I’ll protect you. Cissy! Cissy, this is for you!”

  
And the warrior disapparates. These spoken words hurt more than death itself. How Narcissa wishes she could be the one to guarantee this protection and be able to accomplish it! Even though she firmly believes this was a farewell, she foolishly hopes that, perhaps, Bellatrix may survive the war.

  
&&&&

 _The Last Lost Continent_ :  
You've held me in your heart.  
(And I will hold you in my heart)  
…  
You are all that I have left here  
We are all that we have left.  
We are the lovers, We are the last of our kind.  
- _La Dispute_

 

 


End file.
